Page 17 of Smuggler’s Cove (Twin Lights #1)

“We would also like to check our luggage with the bell captain, if possible. We are visiting our grandparents for only two nights and don’t need to bring everything with us.”

“Not a problem. When you check out on Friday, just ask the bellman to take your things to the captain. You can pick up the ticket on your way out.”

Madison was relieved. She was able to buy ten days of shelter.

At least she had some of the bases covered.

For now. She knew she could depend on Lincoln to be level-headed and proactive.

Even though he was not as much of an extrovert as his sister, he had strength and stamina.

More importantly, he had integrity. And so did she.

They would muddle through this together, regardless of where their mother was now.

It did not matter if all they had left were the shirts on their backs.

Madison knew her mother would never abandon them.

At least not emotionally. Considering what was going on, that was a plus, especially since she did not know the finer points of the situation.

The woman behind the desk finally looked up. “Would you like the bellman to bring your bags to the room?”

“I do not have them with me. I will be picking them up this afternoon.”

The clerk did not flinch. Many people would check in without luggage and have it delivered later. Or never. It depended whether it was a legitimate guest, or a clandestine meeting of a highly paid executive and an “escort,” as they wish to be called.

The associate handed Madison the key. “Do you want to take the key for your brother’s room, as well? I have both of you checked in right now.”

“Yes, that will be fine. Thank you.” Madison checked her watch again. Another two and a half hours to go.

“Would you like someone to see you to your room?” the woman asked.

Madison smiled. “No, thank you. I believe I can find it.”

“Enjoy your stay,” the clerk called out as Madison walked toward the elevators.

Their rooms were on the twelfth floor. If the press were in the lobby, and Madison and Lincoln had to sneak out of the hotel, they could take the elevator to a lower floor and then use the stairs.

But how would the media know where they were staying?

It took less than an instant for Madison to realize they might be swarming the front of the apartment building at this very moment.

Even though she was only nine years old at the time, she remembered a big hubbub about one of her father’s acquaintances.

The man’s name was Boesky, and he’d been arrested for insider trading.

She didn’t know what it meant at the time but read about it when she was in high school.

She also remembered how her father was on edge for a while.

But then again, he was always either on edge, reticent, or invisible.

When she got to her room, she found a plush robe hanging in the closet.

So far, it was the highlight of her day.

Or was it the hot dog? It dawned on her that the men selling bootlegged handbags were no worse than her father.

That is, if what he was accused of was true.

In her heart, she believed it was. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable with the thoughts she was having about her father.

He was an enigma. It was due to the things he was doing in the shadows, which included cheating on her mother.

Unfortunately, his affairs were not the big secret he tried to hide.

Men can be so stupid . Or was it arrogance? Most likely the latter .

Madison turned on the shower and opened the small bottles of BVLGARI shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

The warm water streamed over her body, cleansing the street dirt and the emotional dirt from her being.

If only she had purchased a new outfit when she stopped at the department store.

After her shower, she blew out her shoulder-length hair and pulled it back in a ponytail.

She hung her clothes on the back of the bathroom door and ran the shower again, hoping the steam would freshen her clothes.

At least she would smell good when she met up with the U.S.

Marshal. Not that it mattered what he thought.

It was simply something she always tried to manage.

Put on a good appearance, even if it is just for your own sake and self-esteem.

Madison realized her clothes were beginning to get damp from all the steam and began to run the blow-dryer up and down her pants. This has been some kind of day. And it ain’t over yet, she mused.

Again, she checked her watch. She’d managed to tick off another hour.

She had ninety minutes to go before she met up with Lincoln.

It would take about that long if she wanted to walk the three miles to the soon-to-be former apartment.

She’d probably be a sweaty mess by the time she got there.

Maybe she’d walk through SoHo and then grab a cab.

But then again, maybe not. She had to be careful of how she spent her money until she knew exactly how much there was left.

She checked her wallet, found a few MTA tokens, and decided she would take the bus uptown and then walk across town.

That should get her there in plenty of time with a few minutes to spare.

She checked herself in the mirror. She was beginning to look increasingly like her mother.

Some said Gwen resembled Jessica Lange. Madison could live with that.

She remembered one night they were playing “Who do you look like?” and her brother was flagged as Jeff Daniels, who had recently starred in the film Pleasantville , but Lincoln preferred Nick Carter of the Backstreet Boys.

Madison responded with a sarcastic, “You’ll get over it, when you realize how dumb that is. ”

It also occurred to her they had not included their father in the game.

It was because they rarely got a good look at him.

She snickered. But if she had to choose someone, it would be Jeff Bridges.

It was not a secret that her father was handsome.

That, along with his charm, is what got them into this fine mess.

As she walked to the bus stop, she kept looking over her shoulder, waiting to be accosted by some hungry journalist looking for a juicy story.

She realized she was being paranoid, but she saw how the press could take over people’s lives.

No wonder so many celebrities paid people to keep them out of the paper.

Yet, there were those who paid loads of money to make sure they were always in print. What a world .

There weren’t many people on the bus, and she managed to get a seat.

She perused the crowd and wondered how many of them were happy.

Worried? Anxious? Angry? Content? Madison looked at one woman who sat with a bag on her lap.

The woman was expressionless. Was she sad?

Madison wondered. Whenever she and Lincoln were bored, they would make up stories about other people around them.

People they did not know. If they were at a restaurant, Lincoln would lean in and whisper something outrageous, such as, “They’re private detectives pretending to be husband and wife while they tail a cheating husband.

” Or, “Bank robbers stopping for a bite to eat to throw off the police.” Madison would howl.

Lincoln was the quiet one, yet always had something witty to say when no one else was paying attention.

She wondered what kind of mood he was going to be in today.

When the bus arrived at 57th Street, Madison exited through the side door and walked east. She slowed as she approached the neighborhood, looking in each direction for gossip predators.

But was it gossip? She remembered laughing with Olivia, “If it’s true, then it isn’t gossip.

” Madison knew her world was changing at a rapid pace. She hoped she could keep up.

Madison was relieved to see her brother waiting at the front entrance.

He was chatting with Reggie, the door attendant.

Neither of them looked dismayed or bothered.

Lincoln was smiling and nodding. That’s her brother—relaxed, cool.

Of the two of them, he represented calm.

Not that Madison would become hysterical; she was simply more animated.

She kept her head down, and her eyes darted side to side.

“There she is,” Lincoln announced, and put his arm around her shoulders.

“Good talking to you, Reggie. See you in a bit.” Madison was always impressed by how mature her brother appeared, and his impeccable manners.

It was Hackley. And their mother. Gwen taught them about having good manners at an early age.

“Hey, Reggie,” Madison managed with a strained smile.

“Good afternoon, Miss Madison.” Reggie always referred to her as Miss before her first name.

It started when she was around twelve. One afternoon he referred to her as Miss Taylor.

Madison insisted he call her Madison, so they compromised with “Miss Madison.” Reggie was a good old transplanted southern gentleman.

She had no idea how old he was. Her grandfather’s age?

Reggie opened the door for the siblings, who moved swiftly to the front desk where a U.S.

Marshal waited. One of the prune-faced co-op board members gave them the stink eye as she passed them on her way out.

“Hello, Mrs. Greenwood.” Lincoln paid no attention to the old battle ax’s sour puss.

She huffed a response. Lincoln elbowed Madison, who bit her lip to keep from laughing.

Lincoln and Madison showed the marshal their IDs, and the three approached the elevator bank. When they exited on their floor, Madison let out a big whoosh of air. “That is something I am not going to miss. Old crabby cakes.”